Eli laughs while Ollie fills a cup and slides it to me. Just how I like it—black with no milk or sweetener. I gulp a mouthful and close my eyes to savor the moment.
“Better?” Ollie asks. I hum my response as I feel the effects of the coffee taking over. Coffee is the elixir of the gods that they let us mortals enjoy.
My friends let me eat my breakfast in silence before Rosie needs to leave. She comes downstairs and kisses Eli goodbye before hugging Ollie and me. When the elevator doors close, Ollie turns to me. “Want to have a jam session? Eli and I have date nights planned tonight, but we’ve got a few hours to kill.”
“I don’t have my guitar.”
Eli shrugs like it’s nothing. “You could always borrow one of my Gibsons.”
“You know I’m a Fender guy,” I say, referencing my favorite guitar brand. It has been a long-ass argument between us. But what can I say? My Uncle Joey taught me to play with a Fender, and I can’t imagine having it any other way. The first guitar I ever got from my uncle was a vintage Fender from the ‘80s. It used to be his, but he wanted me to have it when I got out of the foster system.
“C’mon, man. It can’t be that bad to try the better option for once.” Ollie snickers. He also has a Gibson at his place, even if he doesn’t play as much as Eli and I do.
Eli laughs with him and gets up from his seat next to the kitchen island. He takes three water bottles from the fridge and motions us to follow him. When Rose moved in last year, they remodeled the empty rooms upstairs. We head to the one turned into a chilled home studio space. The setup is where Rose works if she edits video interviews for her job as a journalist, but the room also holds Eli’s guitar collection and a comfy seating area.
“Here, take this one,” Eli says as he hands me a guitar from his collection.
I take hold of the black acoustic Gibson and sit down. I balance the guitar on my thigh, position myself, and strum it softly. The melodious sound fills the room, and I instantly feel better. My calloused fingers play with the strings, and I feel like I can breathe again. There isn’t much music and art can’t fix.And these two idiots with me.
I met Eli two weeks after I was placed in the foster system. He happened to live with the Browns, our foster parents who later died in a house fire.
I remember my first day with them like it was yesterday. I had just done something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy—I almost killed a man. Even though it was self-defense, it took its toll on me, and the memories still haunt me during restless nights and quiet moments. There are times when I wake up covered in sweat, gasping for air, and it has been over twelve years since that one fateful night. Nothing can help me forget that day.
But what made it all easier, a little bit better, was Eli and later Ollie. Both have complicated family histories, just like I do, with Eli being adopted at a young age and then his adoptive parents dying in a car accident. Years before that, Ollie’s mother had a mental breakdown and couldn’t look after her three young children. Both were placed in foster care just like I was, and from day one, we were bonded together by our experiences.
Before moving in with the Browns, I was worried that my foster home would be another prison after living under the same roof with my abusive stepfather and mother, who didn’t give a shit. I even puked in the car on the way to the Browns. I was scared shitless and so fucking alone.
Once I got to my new room, I was told I would be sharing with a boy named Eli. He had just moved in as well, and the room looked pretty sparse. But I noticed his collection of CDs on top of his drawer and his acoustic guitar in the corner.
Later that night, when we were introduced and left alone, Eli noticed me admiring his collection and said, “You know, you can have a closer look. I don’t mind.”
I remember asking him if he was sure. He just nodded and continued reading his book. That was the moment I could finally relax after one of the worst months of my life. I knew that no matter what, I might have a friend after I left the house once I graduated high school.
Eli turned out to be even more. He, just like Ollie, is my brother from another mother. Ireallyhate that saying, but it fits here. We’re chosen brothers for life. No matter where we came from, we’re family. Always there for each other.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
When I arrive home after having a three-hour jam session with Eli and Ollie, I know something’s up. Angry chick music is blaring, my two suitcases are open on the living room floor, and I can’t see her anywhere.
“Tiff?”
I don’t hear her at first. But then I see her carrying another load of my black clothes to the living room.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout at her over the music.
She stops abruptly and drops everything she’s carrying on the floor, making an even bigger mess.Fucktastic.
“Hi babe, you’re home earlier than I expected,” she chirps too fucking cheerfully.
“And what are you doing with my clothes?”
“I was packing because lying, cheating assholes can’t stay here.”
Wait a second.What the fuck?“Please fucking explain yourself.”
“I mean that it’s time foryouto go somewhere else and leave me alone. I don’t want to see your lying, cheating face anymore.”
“Are you crazy? This is my apartment, so if anyone is leaving, it’s you.”
